


The Things We Do For Love

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Demonic Possession, F/M, Fluff, Humor, demonbro! being his usual demonic bro self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have no idea what I’d do just to make you happy, Alex Reagan.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Do For Love

They’re supposed to be going out to dinner to celebrate their six month ‘ultimate two-for-the-price-of-one deal’ anniversary, but Alex is going through the last minute jitters of making sure everything is perfect right down to the hem of her dress and the curls of his hair. And no matter how many platitudes he offers - the “It’s fine Alex, really” or “Let’s just stay home, order take out, and fuck”- Alex still rushes off to change one last detail until everything is perfect. Granted, everything about her is perfect. The demon doesn’t really care about how he looks -he’d rather they just stay home in jeans and t-shirts than dressing to the nines - but Strand likes dressing up. And Alex likes it when he makes an effort, so he goes through with all of her changes without a single complaint.

Well, almost.

The demon balks when he sees what’s in her hand, forcing Strand’s muscles and vocal chords into making gagging sounds that make their precious podcast host jump back in surprise.

Well, to Alex it sounds like gagging, but to his and his host’s ears, it’s probably more akin to sputtering out prayers dedicated to a few not-so-pleasant hellbeasts in a language that should remain dead. So long as he gets his utter disgust across, however, the pain in his vocal chords will be worth it.

“Alex, darling,” the demon coos sweetly, gently cupping her face with his hands, “sweetheart, honey bunches, light of my life. I love you-“

Strand squirms and a dull pulsing beats at his temples.

“And the boring, middle-aged man I’m cooped up in feels the same way if not more. Of course _I_ love you the most, but that’s a debate for another time. We have more important things to discuss.”

She smiles; the light above them reflects a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that the demon adores out of instinct. And going by the rapid increase of his heart-rate, so does his host.  Birds of trickster feathers flock together. The situation is dire, but the demon can’t help but smile.

“You have no idea what I’d do just to make you happy, Alex Reagan,” he says softly, even though they are the only ones in the room.

She laughs, unaware of the severity of his statement. It’s quickly cut short when she sees that he isn’t laughing.

“What kind of things are we talking about here?” she says, eyeing him carefully. They can already see her mentally edging closer to her purse, which contains a vial of holy water that they gave her for emergencies.   

“Murder, torture, blackmail, arson, lie, cheat, summon a legion of demonic entities, or steal candy from a baby, your wish is our command.” He’s not sure what’s scarier: the facts that the deeds roll off his tongue with ease, or that Strand didn’t even make an attempt to stop him.

 _Got a little dark side don’t ya?_ , the demon thinks gleefully.

This time, Strand is the one that ignores him. Jerk. 

“You’re probably one of the most dangerous people in the world right about now; you got a demon on a leash and his host wrapped around your finger. Pretty sweet deal if I do say so myself.”

He means it as a compliment, but her eyes are wide in deer-in-the-head-lights terror. He can feel her shivering under his palms.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” she asks.

His gaze quickly falls onto the plain, forest green silk tie looped around her arm, the instigator for his disgust moments ago. She frowns.

“I wouldn’t wear that god forsaken tie.”

He says it a way to try to make her laugh and break tension. Thankfully it works, belly laughter cuts though the silence in the room and she pulls away from his grasp, leaning on the couch for support. He _wouldn’t_ wear it, but _he might_ reconsider if there were four hundred kisses involved. Any other day he’d fight her and stand his ground, but today he’s in a more playful sort of mood, more in need of her praise than an argument.

“It’s not my color,” the demon reasons. He smirks, mocking his human’s signature wry grins that emerge when the demon let his guard down.

 _Don't be a child_ , Strand grumbles.

 _Don't be a stuffy, old man_ , the demon fires back.

“I think it would look wonderful on you,” she retorts. She moves closer to him, sure and unafraid, holding the tie to his shirt. She stays there silently for a minute, quietly judging him.

“It’s hideous,” the demon says.

 _It’s gorgeous you uncultured-,_ the human starts.

 _Finish that line, buddy,_ the demon growls, _and I will make you regret sticking around_. An empty threat, he likes his current model of a host, vintage is the new ‘new’ after all and it’s the form Alex adores. But his demonic patience -the _only_ wonder of the world in his professional opinion- only extends so far. And most of it is reserved towards the lovely woman in front of him, humming in delight.

 “It brings out your eyes,” she says with finality. It’s a ‘what-I-say-goes’ tone that is purely unique to Alex Reagan. It makes the demon want to fall to his knees and beg like a helpless stray for her approval.

The demon huffs, but he takes the tie from her hands and promptly begins forming a knot around his neck. She steps back to look at him, her eyes roaming and admiring him. (It takes all his self control -and a panicked Strand’s begging- not to grab her by the arm and drag her off to the bedroom.) She rewards his hard work with a simple nod and smile. Some men would consider that chump change and demand more, but he isn’t just some men (and he isn’t even all man in the technical sense), that simple gesture alone is worth more than a thousand or a lifetime of her kisses. And it’s not even the physical aspect that he craves, but just the mere attention she gives him. It’s the closest thing to divinity he’s ever felt post-fall. The woman deserves a hymn in her honor.

Oh the things he would give and the apocalypses he’d cause just to make it so he and Alex were alone in the world.

A jolt of mental static, a cousin of TV snow, surges through his body. He’s never been hit by lightening, but he assumes this is what it feels like.

 _I guess you can tag along too if you behave yourself_ , the demon mumbles to his jealous host. For now it works. They put aside their little stranded on a desert island fantasy on the back-burner and divert their focus back on Alex. 

“The things I do for you,” he mutters, his faux annoyance broken by a widening smile.

All she does is kiss him.

( _Fuck_ Redbull, it has nothing on Alex and her strawberry flavored lip balm.)

She kisses him three hundred twenty times before they go out and have dinner. Strand double checks the math to make sure the demon isn’t cheating. (Like he would _ever_ do such a thing.) It’ s seventy three kisses short of the four hundred than the demon needs to be convinced to wear an ugly tie in public, but he’s willing to make allowances for her.

The demon adds that to the ever expanding list, right after ‘cleaning the gutters’, just before ‘giving the pet a bath’ and ‘blackmailing a senator’. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know it's been awhile since I've written a nice, happy, wholesome fluff fic, so I hope it's not too rusty. Thanks to buckybabs for her creation of demonbro!strand, I hope I did him justice!
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought of this! (And don't worry, I do plan on writing more dark stuff in the future.)


End file.
